


Cover Story Books of South Side Chicago

by sleepinggiant



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Actor Mickey, Alternate Universe, Dead Terry Milkovich, Endgame Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Famous Mickey, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Notting Hill, Notting Hill AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinggiant/pseuds/sleepinggiant
Summary: Ian runs a small bookstore with his sister Fiona. One thing he never expected was for Mickey Milkovich, A-List Oscar winner and South Side success story, to wander into that store one day.Or, the Notting Hill AU absolutely no one asked for.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 34
Kudos: 72





	1. A Meeting and a Keg

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the chaptered fic (my first AO3 chaptered fic!) that I planned out for the Big Bang (what would have been my first Big Bang!) but didn't end up finishing in time, mostly because I was meant to be working on my thesis. It is now a few months later and I still need to work on my thesis but oh well, here we go anyway!
> 
> You don't need to have seen Notting Hill to read this.
> 
> I've planned this story out pretty thoroughly so it's not likely to be abandoned any time soon, however I don't have a posting schedule atm.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please please please leave comments letting me know what you think, and kudos if you like it!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](%E2%80%9Dninjapirateunicorns.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) :)

Ian and Fiona had been running the bookstore for nearly two years, ever since a distant relative they could only vaguely remember – a great aunt several steps removed on Monica’s side – had passed away and left her business to her family. As it turned out, her only remaining family was Ian and his siblings.

Having been looking for a new project to channel her energy into, Fiona quickly took charge. What sounded great on paper though – a quaint, independent, travel bookstore established in the 1960’s – turned out to be an abandoned, boarded-up shithole located not far from the Alibi, miraculously untouched for at least a couple decades after Aunt Meredith had become too ill to work in it. Why she didn’t hire employees to take over at that point or just sell the place became clear once Ian and Fiona went to check the place out, finding a collection of travel books that no one in their right mind would bother paying for even before the internet rendered them basically obsolete, and especially in their corner of the South Side.

It was immediately obvious that the store needed a major facelift and change in direction. Despite lengthy discussion about what to turn the business into instead of a travel bookstore, Ian and Fiona never quite reached a decision, instead opting to expand the selection of books in the meantime and becoming a general bookstore. They cleaned the place up with the help of the other siblings, and as the months passed, they reached a point where the place went from being a moldy old dump to something of a sanctuary for them both. The agreement to keep selling books remained unspoken.

Despite a rocky start, the bookstore had gradually found its feet, making just enough sales per month to justify keeping it open. Ian had been skeptical about the whole thing at the beginning, but now he loved everything about the place, from the little bell above the bright blue door to the smell of the dusty books crammed into the high shelves lining every wall and towering above his favorite worn armchair behind the counter.

He was sitting in that very armchair with his feet propped up on the counter, flicking through one of their newest additions to the murder mystery novels – not that it was much of a mystery in this case, as he was twelve pages in and could already tell who the murderer was – when the little bell above the door chimed.

“Welcome to Cover Story Books, let me know if I can help you find anything,” Ian called out with a cursory glance towards the door before immediately doing a double take.

The customer standing there was partially obscured by the tall bookshelf carrying new releases, but Ian could see enough of his face to tell that the man standing in his little bookshop was none other than Mickey Milkovich, the A-List actor and Oscar winner who lived in the South Side of Chicago before famously leaving home as a teenager and getting into acting in LA. Given that he was around the same age as Ian, Ian had heard the story countless times, had met countless people in the neighborhood claiming to be best friends with Mickey, had seen that face in countless pictures and films.

Admittedly, Ian himself may have occasionally found himself wanting to impress people and mentioning the fact that he went to school with Mickey before the latter dropped out. Not that he’d admit to it, but perhaps, from time to time, he’d even recounted the story of when he was in the third grade and tried to borrow a pencil from Milkovich, who’d told him to fuck off.

That was the only real link he had to the man, though, and aside from a few inevitable late-night fantasies (especially after that one action film came out a couple years ago, where Mickey had looked better than ever playing the lead, all muscle, confidence, and attitude that Ian hadn’t been able to get out of his head), he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about him.

Besides, despite their shared roots, Ian had never entertained the possibility of actually seeing him again. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have been caught quite so off guard. As it were, he noticed a moment too late that Mickey was staring straight at him, one annoyed eyebrow lifted high, looking as though he was waiting for Ian to reply to something he’d said. Shit.

“Uhm,” Ian started. _Smooth_. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Was wonderin’ what the fuck you’re starin’ at,” Mickey said gruffly, though his tone wasn’t as angry as his words would suggest, and despite the tense line of his shoulders and a displeased frown still on his face, he looked more tired than angry. Kind of like he wanted to chew Ian out, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

“Sorry,” Ian said with an apologetic smile as he stood up behind the counter, “I completely zoned out. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Looking like he thought Ian was a bit of an idiot (a sentiment Ian currently wholeheartedly agreed with), Mickey looked down a book he was holding, flipping it over to scan through the blurb as he spoke.

“Just tryin’ to find a present for my sister. Might get this.”

Ian looked down at the book, quickly recognizing the familiar cover.

“That’s a great choice,” he exclaimed, walking around the counter and approaching the other man, though making sure to still keep a respectable distance. Normally, he prided himself on his social skills, but something about an A-Lister he’s been hearing about his entire life and harbored an attraction for for as long as he could remember being in his store was throwing him off his game. How much distance do people normally put between themselves and strangers, again?

“It’s one of my new favorites, actually,” Ian continued, trying hard to focus on the book and treat Mickey like any other customer, hoping his voice still sounded normal and unaffected. “It came out about a month ago this summer and I’ve already read it twice. It’s this fantasy flick with basically everything you could ask for! Magic, romance, action, and it’s funny as hell—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey cut him off, though not unkindly. “I’ll take it.”

“Oh. Great!” Ian scrambled back behind the counter and took the book when Mickey held it out. He busied himself at the till, managing to sneak a few glances over at Mickey, who was looking around the shop with an unreadable expression. Trying desperately to think of something to say – because the silence was loud, and something about Mickey made Ian want to keep talking – Ian started stalling, taking his time with the purchase that would normally only take him a few seconds to ring up.

But the more he tried to think of something to say, the more his confidence faltered. What are you meant to say in this situation, anyway? ‘Hey, Mickey, remember that time I talked to you in third grade’? He wasn’t about to make himself sound like a crazy stalker. He could strike up a conversation about a film Mickey had been in, but then he’d just sound like a fan, and judging by Mickey’s tired face and the sunglasses now hooked into the neck of his t-shirt despite the overcast sky outside, the actor might not be in the mood for a meet-and-greet.

“That’ll be twenty bucks, please,” Ian said, finally at least breaking the silence.

Mickey turned back towards Ian, who was struck by a sudden desire for Mickey to actually look him in the eyes again, which he hadn’t since he’d caught Ian staring at him. Mickey was looking down at his wallet though, a soft worn thing of brown leather, rifling through it briefly before holding out a twenty for Ian to take.

Ian took it, being very careful not to let his fingers brush against Mickey’s.

“Thanks,” Ian said, and finally, Mickey looked at him again. His expression was still unreadable, and Ian still couldn’t think of anything interesting to say.

He was just about to ask if Mickey wanted the receipt, but before he could get the words out, Mickey was walking briskly towards the door with a curt ‘see ya’ thrown over his shoulder, and with a tinkle of the bell the shop was empty once again.

When Fiona walked in a couple minutes later to take over for the day, Ian was still playing through the encounter in his head.

“Hey, sweetface,” she grinned at him, breezing past him to the small back office and raising her voice to continue talking to him from there. “How was the morning shift, anything interesting happen?”

“Well,” Ian said softly, “you’ll never guess who—”

“Oh, by the way,” Fiona continued, evidently not having heard Ian at all and now bustling back into the main room with a cup of coffee to take his place behind the counter. “Kev said we could grab a keg for Liam’s birthday, would you mind picking that up on your way home?”

“Sure,” Ian smiled, and a minute later he was walking down the street to the Alibi.

* * *

When Mickey left Chicago, he swore he’d never come back. Or at the very least, that he wouldn’t come back to the South Side. And he’d held on to that promise – at least, until he got a text from Iggy, followed by a phone call from Mandy a week or so later.

Iggy’s text had been as succinct as Iggy himself had always been: _Dad’s dead._ No more information was offered; if Mickey wanted to know more, he’d have to ask, and he was resolutely not going to do that.

He’d expected to feel more… something. Not sad, obviously – he was never going to mourn the old bastard – but after nearly seventeen years of being terrorized by his father, followed by just narrowly managing to escape with his and Mandy’s lives intact several years ago, he would have expected immediate relief when Terry was finally gone. Even with the success he’d found in LA, including financial stability and hired bodyguards, he’d spent the years since leaving constantly looking over his shoulder, constantly ready to defend himself should Terry catch up with him.

And yet, Iggy’s text didn’t change anything. Mickey didn’t feel relieved, or like he could just let it all go and move on with a life less dictated by a fear that had followed him around since he was born. He just felt… nothing.  
He’d received a few more texts in the days following Iggy’s, mostly from his sister and cousin Sandy, but he hadn’t replied to very many. About a week later, though, Mandy called him with a request.

“We have to go back, Mickey,” she’d said. He’d heard the sound of her balcony door sliding shut and imagined her leaning against the railing, wrapped in a thin robe and holding a lit cigarette between her fingers.

“Why the fuck would you want to do that,” Mickey had replied from his own position on the edge of his bed. He had a balcony too, as well as what felt like a hundred rooms in his too-big LA house, but he didn’t spend too much time outside his bedroom, the bathroom, and maybe the kitchen. He didn’t like having too much space; it left him feeling exposed, somehow.

“The whole point of leaving there was to get away from him and be able to start our own lives,” Mandy continued, her voice determined. “But now he’s gone, and I know you’re not feeling any better than I am. It hasn’t sunk in yet. We need to go back and empty that house and sell it. We need closure.”

Mickey had rolled his eyes at that. That house could burn to the ground for all he cared. “Closure? What kinda pussy-ass psycho-bullshit is that? He’s dead, Mandy, it’s _over_ , getting rid of the house ain’t gonna kill him a second time.”

Somehow, Mandy had still won the argument, and so Mickey found himself in Chicago on a rainy Monday a couple weeks later.

He had arrived in the morning, and Mandy had neglected to tell him she wouldn’t be landing until later in the evening. He figured he’d hang out at Sandy’s new place, but she’d told him she was busy until the evening too, which left him all by himself with several hours to kill.

He had been fully intending to just coop up in his hotel room to maybe raid the minifridge and find something to watch on TV, but a weird sort of restlessness took over until he let his feet take him down streets that were still so familiar after all these years.

It was a weird feeling, going back to a place that not only held so many memories but had been his entire world for most of his life before he’d finally managed to leave. He hadn’t stepped foot here in so long, and it felt wrong, somehow, that it still looked exactly the same as when he’d left it.

Well – nearly the same. One of the old abandoned buildings on the same street as the Alibi wasn’t looking as abandoned anymore.

He noticed it as he walked around with his sunglasses on – grey weather be damned; he probably looked a little ridiculous, but at least it had stopped raining – and his head slightly ducked. Walking up to it, he was surprised to find how nice it looked, not to mention how odd it was to see a bookshop on that street. Who even read books around here, anyway?

Having been meaning to get Mandy a late birthday present (her birthday having been some four months ago, but who’s counting), he’d stepped in to explore.

Obviously, he was used to being stared at by now, but so far, anyone who’d recognized him here had kept their distance; his reputation still lingered in this neighborhood, and no one was dumb enough to approach him.

The vaguely familiar redhead manning the till in the shop, however, was either a special brand of stupid or woefully unfamiliar with the Milkovich’s reign of terror, because he didn’t seem to have any scruples about staring straight at him.

It had been an odd encounter, not least because the guy had been _just_ Mickey’s type, and it had been so long since he’d gotten laid that he had to make a real effort not to stare back too much.

After buying the book, however, Mickey was on his way again, this time heading down the street to the Alibi.

“Well, I’ll be damned – Mickey goddamn Milkovich!” Kevin’s voice boomed through the bar, huge grin beaming at Mickey like a spotlight. Thank fuck it was the middle of the day and the bar was nearly empty.

Kevin poured him a beer and slid it over when Mickey sat down at one of the barstools. He didn’t feel much of an attachment to the bar, but it would have felt wrong not to pay Kevin a visit. Mickey would never admit it out loud, but he’d come to grudgingly like the guy.

“How are ya, man?” Kevin asked, leaning forward with both giant hands resting on the bar so he practically towered over Mickey. “God, never thought I’d see your ass in here again!”

“You and me both, man,” Mickey replied after chugging half his beer in one. “Wouldn’t be a chance in hell I’d be back if my old man hadn’t finally croaked.”

Kevin looked suddenly unsure, his smile faltering.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Sorry man, I forgot. I’m… sorry for your loss?”

“You really think I’m sad to see that asshole go?” Mickey just snorted. “Best day of my life, finding out he was dead.” And in a way, he supposed that was true, even if it hadn’t been quite the rush of happiness he had hoped for. _We need closure_ , Mandy’s voice echoed.

Kevin’s grin came back full force, satisfied with that answer, and he moved to fill Mickey’s now empty glass when the door swung open and the dumb, stupidly attractive bookshop guy sauntered in.

“Hey, Ian!” Kevin exclaimed as the redhead – Ian – walked up to them. “You want a beer?”

“No thanks, Kev,” Ian smiled back easily. “Just dropping by to pick up the keg for the party on Friday.”

“Oh yeah, can’t wait for Friday, it’s been way too long since we did a real Gallagher party! I’ll go grab it,” Kevin replied before disappearing into the back room and leaving Mickey to sit awkwardly in silence next to where Ian still hovered next to him.

“Gallagher, huh,” Mickey said after a beat, looking down at his drink rather than facing Ian. “Thought you looked familiar.”

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to miss it, though looking over at Ian now, maybe it wasn’t that strange. Puberty had clearly hit Ian like a truck, along with a growth spurt or two, and what must have been a pretty intense workout program had filled out his muscles nicely, too.

His face surprised Mickey the most, though; where before Ian had been a wide-eyed, freckled, curly-haired boy, he had grown into a much more confident looking man, his freckles mostly faded and his hair shorter and more serious looking. He’d looked familiar in the shop, but at the same time he looked like an entirely new person.

“Yeah,” Ian chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “You too. Obviously.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure whether Ian was referring to them having met as kids or to Mickey’s career. He had finished his second beer by now, but something kept him from just dumping some cash on the counter and getting out of there. He could feel Ian occasionally throwing what he probably thought were subtle glances his way from where he was now leaning against the bar.

“So,” Ian began, but was cut off by the sound of Kevin returning with a huge keg that he was rolling toward them.

“Sorry, man, I can’t actually help you get this home since Vee’s not here to cover for me,” Kevin said to Ian.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian said, walking behind the bar to assess the keg. “I can manage it.”

“I know you can, but this thing is fucking huge,” Kevin continued, before saying something that made Mickey want to punch the grin right off his face. “Hey, I know – Mickey here could help you!”

He was about to make up an excuse (or just tell Kevin to fuck off; his manners may have gotten a little better over the last few years, at least to the point where they didn’t get him in trouble, but that didn’t mean he had to put up with this fuckery), when he made the mistake of looking at Ian, who had a soft, slightly hopeful smile on his face.

It wasn’t like Mickey had anything better to do at the moment.

And so, he and Ian lifted opposite ends of the massive keg (Mickey had seen his fair share of kegs in his life, but Jesus, since when do they even make them this big?) and made their way out on the street.

* * *

Ian still hadn’t thought of anything interesting to say, but at that point – namely, as the two of them carried the keg down the street in a slow, awkward shuffle – he was content just to start a conversation.

“So how long are you in town for?”

“Just ‘til Saturday.”

“You here on business?”

“This a fuckin’ interview?”

Okay. Apparently, that wasn’t the right conversational route. At least Mickey’s voice had again lacked any real bite. Plus, he was still there, waddling along in that weird squat waddle walk you end up in when carrying something large and unwieldy, and if he wanted to leave and let Ian deal with the keg himself, he easily could. So Ian kept talking.

“Keg’s for a birthday party for my brother Liam,” he explained, despite never being asked. “He’s only turning eleven, so it’s not for him, but we always jump on a chance to celebrate properly.”

Mickey frowned slightly at that.

“Sounds like a shit party for an eleven-year-old.”

“Oh, no,” Ian hurried to explain, surprised and slightly touched that Mickey cared. “We’re getting all kinds of other stuff for him too, y’know, food and presents and decorations and whatever, so he’ll still enjoy it. The beer’s just for the rest of us, y’know. May as well keep the party going.”

Mickey just shifted the weight of the keg a little and continued walking without saying anything.

“My brother Lip is sober now, actually, and has a baby,” Ian rambled on. “And I don’t drink much, so really this is quite a lot more beer than we actually need, but I guess it’s tradition at this point.”

Mickey hummed noncommittedly. Ian couldn’t help but smile a little.

“How long has that bookshop been there, anyway,” Mickey asked gruffly. “Place was a run-down shithole last time I was here.”

“Nearly two years now!” Ian exclaimed, feeling his smile grow into a proud grin. “What did you think of it?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows slightly. They came to a stop at a busy street, putting the keg down as they waited to be able to cross.

“Looked better now than it did back then,” Mickey said, somehow managing to compliment the shop without really complimenting it. After all, just like Mickey had said, it used to be a total shithole.

Ian kept smiling anyway. Then he thought maybe he should stop smiling so much, lest he come on too strong. But he hadn’t really expected Mickey to bring up the store at all, so he appreciated the sentiment. After a moment’s silence, to his surprise, Mickey added:

“Seems like a pretty nice shop.”

And Ian couldn’t help but beam at him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I hope your sister likes that book you got, it’s really—”

Ian stopped talking. A bus had come to a very abrupt stop at the red light in front of them, braking in a puddle of muddy rainwater that had splashed over them and now drenched their pants from the knee down. Before either of them could react to that, however, Ian’s eyes fell on the bus itself; there was nothing unusual about it, except it had a massive advertisement for an upcoming film plastered on the side closest to them, with a pitch-black background and stark white writing surrounding one single character wearing an astronaut suit and a very serious expression – Mickey.

The writing proclaimed in loud letters, _MICKEY MILKOVICH in A NEW GALAXY’s DAWN. COMING SOON TO THEATERS NEAR YOU!_

A moment later, the light had turned green and the bus was gone, and Ian turned to find Mickey staring after it with a poorly conceived look of horror, his eyebrows burrowing together and a faint blush forming on his face. Ian burst out laughing, and after a moment, Mickey let out a reluctant chuckle.

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey said sternly, but the corners of his mouth were still lifted slightly, and they lifted the keg again and crossed the street.

* * *

“Anyone home?” Ian yelled as soon as they’d made their way inside the house, their soaked shoes making squelching noises in the silence of the house. No one replied.

After depositing the keg in the kitchen, Mickey stretched his arms briefly and took a step back to look around at the living room and kitchen. He’d seen the Gallagher house several times before, of course; the Gallaghers were almost as notorious as the Milkoviches around here, in no small part due to Frank’s various escapades. Mickey could remember a few instances when, as a pretty young kid, he’d seen Terry threatening or beating up Frank because he’d owed him money, though Frank must have learned his lesson, because they hadn’t had much business with the Gallaghers since.

In a way, it felt quintessentially South Side, slapping Mickey in the face with the nostalgic familiarity of it all, but at the same time, it was so different from the only home he’d known in the city. It was the same sort of dirty, scruffy mix of old furniture, some of which had clearly been found on the side of the street, with shoes littering the space around the front door, that he’d grown up with, but it felt warmer, somehow. He supposed it had something to do with the stuffed toys lying around the soft looking couch, which was draped in a couple of warm blankets and squashy pillows, the picture frames on a shelf with photos of a slew of smiling Gallagher siblings, and the bright crayon drawings stuck to the fridge next to shopping lists and a white board full of various messages.

_Franny dr appt. Mon 07/02 10am._

_Carl: work called, call back ASAP!!!_

_Ian – don’t forget to pick up new meds this week._

“It’s not often the house is this quiet,” Ian was saying behind him with a chuckle. “Fiona’s at the bookstore, and Lip doesn’t technically live here anymore since he moved into a house down the street with his girlfriend Tami and their baby, Fred, but he’s still here all the time anyway. You want some coffee or something?”

“Sure,” Mickey replied, the word slipping out before he really managed to think it through. He still had a few hours to kill before Mandy arrived and Sandy got off work.

Ian moved to the counter to start making coffee, continuing to talk as he took two mugs out of the cupboard.

“Debbie must be out with Franny, her daughter. I think Carl’s at work, and Liam’s at school. You want milk in your coffee?”

“Nah,” Mickey replied. Ian nodded and turned back to the counter.

“Thanks for the help with the keg, man, I owe you one,” Ian said with another smile. Mickey just gave a single nod. This kid sure smiled a lot. “By the way, I’ll put your pants in the dryer for you, if you take them off.”

Mickey just stared at him. What the fuck.

“Excuse me?” Mickey glared at the back of Ian’s head.

Ian turned back around.

“Oh, wait, sorry, that came out wrong,” he said with an awkward huff of a laugh. “I meant you can borrow a pair of sweats, and then I’ll get the dryer going. For your pants. If you want?”

Mickey felt his irritation wash away, instead feeling the alarming urge to laugh again at the embarrassed look on Ian’s face.

“Nah, man,” Mickey said. “I’ll manage.”

“Oh, come on,” Ian replied, sounding less worried now that it was clear Mickey wasn’t angry. “They’re soaking wet. May as well let them dry while we drink our coffee.”

At the lack of a response, Ian slid one of the coffee cups over to Mickey and then bounded up the stairs to get a pair of sweats, pointing Mickey in the direction of the downstairs bathroom to get changed. When Mickey came out, Ian had been back upstairs to change into his own pair of sweats and was leaning forward to inspect the buttons on the dryer. Mickey found himself automatically looking down at Ian’s ass for a beat too long and forced himself to look away. He was just here until the weekend, after all; no point starting something here, no matter how attractive Ian had gotten.

Once Ian had taken Mickey’s pants and started the dryer, they sat down at the table with their coffee. The rain had started up again outside, providing soft pattering noise along with the steady hum of the dryer.

“So, is it weird being back?” Ian asked softly, big green eyes trained on Mickey.

“I guess,” Mickey admitted. Mostly it was weird how similar everything was to when he’d left. It felt wrong, considering how much had changed for him since. “Been a while.”

“Must be nice, not to be stuck here anymore,” Ian said, and his wistful tone surprised Mickey. Considering how much Ian seemed to care for his family and his job, Mickey wouldn’t have thought he’d be dreaming to get away.

His surprise must have shown on his face, because Ian continued:

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy here, and I wouldn’t want to leave now, what with my shop and family and all, but I’ve always wanted to at least travel a little, see the world.” He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve never even left Illinois.”

Mickey had never even left Chicago before he and Mandy ran away, so he could relate. Being back here now, he felt a detachment he hadn’t expected. He’d feared that he would feel like this was the only place he belonged, once he came back. Like he wouldn’t be able to leave again. Instead, he felt as out of place here as he still did in LA, like it didn’t matter where he went. There was something missing everywhere.

“Traveling’s cool, I guess,” he admitted. “But every place has its issues. It’s not like leaving here solves all your problems.”

“No,” Ian agreed. “I suppose you can take the man out of the South Side, but you can’t take the South Side out of the man, right?”

That made Mickey smile again, just slightly. He had said something similar to Mandy once, when they’d been gone just long enough for the thrill and possibility of escaping Chicago to make way for anxiety about how to make it in California. Mickey hadn’t yet fallen into acting and was instead working at a shitty corner store, while Mandy was a barista at some hipster coffee place, and they were barely scraping by.

Every waking hour they'd worried about Terry coming after them.

Mickey had just lost it one night, stumbling home bruised and bloodied after drinking too much alone in a bar and roughing up some guy for no good reason at all. He’d passed out in the hallway outside their shitty apartment door in that first apartment that they shared, before Mandy moved to San Francisco and before Mickey made enough to buy a house. Mandy had found him an hour later and taken him inside to clean his bloody knuckles, not asking what had happened, but reminding him sadly that they’re supposed to be better now, they’re not supposed to have to deal with this shit anymore.

 _Just ‘cause I’m out of the South Side doesn’t mean the South Side’s outta me, Mands,_ Mickey had slurred before passing out on the couch.

“Yeah,” he said to Ian now. “Somethin’ like that.”

They finished their coffees mostly in silence, and Mickey was grateful Ian wasn’t asking him questions about his movies. It’s not like he minded talking about them, not really, but it tended to get a little old when every single new person he’d meet since his big break didn’t seem to care about anything else.

“Weird how we didn’t cross paths more before you left,” Ian said slowly, swirling around the last dregs of his coffee and leaning his head back to swallow it. Mickey’s eyes automatically went to his throat, following the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“We met a couple times, didn’t we?” Mickey asked, maybe against his better judgment. Part of him was wary of admitting he remembered Ian at all.

“Well yeah,” Ian continued, leaning forward on his elbows and looking up at Mickey with those damn eyes heating Mickey’s skin all of a sudden. “I remember meeting you a couple times, and seeing you around. But we never actually hung out or anything.”

“Hangin’ out now, I guess,” Mickey said, and Ian’s gaze on him was almost too much. That small, soft smile was on his face again, and Mickey wondered how anyone could have a proper conversation with this man, how anyone could focus on anything, when he smiled at them like that.

Ian must have seen something on Mickey’s face, because his smile turned knowing, almost a smirk, and Mickey couldn’t help but look down at Ian’s lips, and then Ian was suddenly closer, right there, and Mickey’s brain felt like it was short-circuiting because this felt like a spectacularly bad idea but at the same time he really wanted to close the gap between them.

Mickey hesitated, and Ian waited, and Mickey thought _fuck it._ And when he tentatively pressed his lips to Ian’s, he wondered for a second why exactly this was a bad idea, and then his mind just went blank of all thoughts other than how soft Ian’s lips were and how he tasted like the coffee he’d just finished and smelled like shower gel and cigarettes. The kiss was somehow much softer than he’d expected. He tilted his head a little and felt Ian’s hand on his jaw, and Ian leaned in a little closer, deepening the kiss further, when all of a sudden, the kitchen door slammed open and they sprung apart.

“’Sup,” said the guy who walked in, not appearing to have noticed what he’d interrupted. Mickey thought he was one of Ian’s younger brothers. The guy looked – and smelled – like he’d spent the night in a dumpster. He walked into the kitchen and rummaged in a cabinet for a moment while Mickey looked anywhere except at Ian.

The brother found the box of Pop-Tarts he’d apparently been searching for and wandered off, up the stairs and out of sight without another word, though the dumpster smell lingered somewhat.

“Right,” Ian laughed awkwardly. Paused. “That was Carl.”

Now that the moment was over, Mickey didn’t know what he’d been thinking. This had been a bad idea, after all.

“I gotta go,” Mickey said quickly, and before Ian could respond, Mickey was out the door.


	2. A House and a Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the absolute angels who read and commented on the first chapter despite this being a WIP with no posting schedule - you're all too damn good for this world <3
> 
> This chapter is pretty short but the next one, which should be up next week, is looking like it'll be a lot longer, so I decided to end this one here.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Do they not have sweatpants in your size in LA?” was the first thing Sandy asked, one eyebrow raised as she looked Mickey up and down, when she opened the door to her apartment.

Mickey looked down at Ian’s sweatpants which he’d had to roll up a couple times before shoving his feet into his still-wet shoes, which he was just glad he’d had the foresight to grab before bolting from the Gallagher house.

He just huffed and shouldered past her, kicking off the shoes and heading straight for the couch.

“Geez, what’s with the mood?” Sandy grumbled, closing and locking the door as Mandy came out of the kitchen.

“How did I manage to get here before you?” Mandy asked, plopping down on the couch next to Mickey and punching him softly in the side before drawing her legs up beneath her and leaning an arm on the backrest. Sandy joined them, sitting in the armchair on Mickey’s other side. “Figured you’d be here already when I arrived.”

“Been busy,” Mickey said, then added to Sandy, “You got any beer?”

Sandy raised an eyebrow at him again and slunk into the kitchen with a mutter of _nice to see you too, asshole._

“Seriously, Mickey,” Mandy said, sounding a little annoyed but a little worried, too. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Mickey said, trying his best not to sound so grumpy. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t help it. “Just a weird day, is all.”

Sandy returned with beers for everyone, and Mandy was still looking at Mickey with a calculating gaze, so Mickey changed the topic.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow, then,” he asked, taking a big swig of his beer.

“I talked to this friend of a friend of mine, a realtor,” Sandy replied. “She said she could help. Tomorrow, we’ll go down there to empty the place, and maybe the day after, too, if we need to.”

She continued to explain what the realtor had said, something about appraisals and comparable sales and market values, but Mickey zoned out.

Somehow, he’d come all this way and it had only hit him now that he was going back to his childhood home for the first time in eight years. All of a sudden, he just wanted to get it over with.

“You sure we have to do all that?” Mickey cut Sandy off mid-sentence as she was rambling on about the difference between a real estate agent and a broker. “Can’t we just grab whatever we wanna get and then be done with it?”

But one look on Mandy’s face told him what he already knew; that wasn’t going to be enough. As long as that house was still theirs, it felt like Terry wasn’t really gone.

“Well, fine, but can’t we just get Iggy or Colin or someone to get one of their friends to burn it down for us?” he suggested weakly.

“Mick, seriously, shut up,” Mandy scowled. “We’ve been over this. We’re doing this, and we’re doing it properly. Plus, we’re not all millionaires now, you know. I wouldn’t mind the extra cash we’ll get from this.”

And even if Mickey didn’t really understand her need for _closure_ or whatever, the point about money was one he understood well. Even though he hadn’t needed to worry about that for years, Mandy lived on a much more average salary – not struggling, by any stretch, but not as comfortable as Mickey, either – and she was too proud to accept money from Mickey.

And so he gave in, and let Sandy ramble on, and a couple beers later he could sort of see that Mandy had a point. Less than a day, he’d been back here, but he could already feel that however much he wished he could just feel at home in LA, he didn’t fit in there the way he did here.

His brain unhelpfully supplied an image of that smile Ian had shot at him right before he kissed him. _Never been kissed like that in LA, either,_ an annoying little voice at the back of his head said.

It didn’t matter. He’d left here eight years ago, and he needed to leave again, after the house had been dealt with and this chapter of his life was closed for good.

After that, there’d be plenty more Ians, but they’d be better, because they’d be far away from the South Side.

* * *

Ian was still trying to process what the hell just happened – because surely he hadn’t just kissed a world famous Oscar winner in his own kitchen? – when the house started filling up with Gallaghers. Carl came back downstairs around the same time Debbie and Franny got back from their outing to the park, and then Liam came home from school, and while Ian was draining some spaghetti he’d made for dinner, Fiona got back from the store, and Lip and Tami came over with Freddie.

“What was the point of you getting your own place, again?” Ian teased Lip. “You’re over here eating all our food all the time anyway.”

“Not all your food,” Lip said, putting the plastic bag he was carrying on the counter, which Ian could now see contained several tubs of ice cream. “I brought dessert.”

“I guess we have no choice but to forgive you then,” Ian said in a mock serious tone, shoving the ice cream into the overflowing freezer and handing plates and cutlery over to Lip to start setting the table.

The volume in the house was quickly cranked up to eleven, everyone talking over each other and laughing, and Ian smiled as he set the spaghetti down on the table and ruffled Franny’s hair, and everyone flocked over to the table like a pack of hungry seagulls.

“Oh, hang on,” Fiona said, getting back up and heading over to the washing machine. “Just wanted to start a load of laundry before- whose pants are these?”

Ian whipped his head around to where Fiona was now standing by the open dryer, holding Mickey’s pants up to her legs and looking down at them.

“Not mine,” said Carl, but Ian was already leaping out of his chair to grab them from her.

“No one’s,” he said, as evenly and nonchalantly as he could manage. “I’ll take those.” He stuffed them into the sleeve of his jacket hanging next to the door, figuring he’d figure out what to do with them later, and sat back down.

“No one’s, huh?” Fiona said with a smirk as she sat down opposite Ian, and she wasn’t the only one looking over at him now.

“Are they that guy’s?” Carl asked with a mouthful of spaghetti, sauce spraying everywhere. And dammit, it had seemed earlier like Carl hadn’t even noticed Mickey was there, but apparently that had been wishful thinking. Ian did not want to explain this to all of his siblings right now.

“What guy?” Lip asked, bouncing Freddie on his lap.

“No guy,” Ian said firmly. “There’s no guy.”

“Yeah, there was,” Carl continued, not picking up on Ian’s hints in the slightest. “The guy you were here with earlier.”

“Ooh, so there’s a guy, huh?” Fiona grinned.

“Guy!” Franny exclaimed with an adorable smile, and Ian felt well and truly ganged up on now.

“Okay, alright,” Ian sighed, giving them all an exasperated look. “Someone was here but now he’s not, can we let it go now?”

“Everything okay?” Debbie said after a beat.

“Yeah,” Ian shrugged. “It’s just a little complicated.”

“Ain’t it always,” Fiona said with that knowing sort of smile she reserved for her siblings, the one that was meant to be empathetic but really said _I’m older and wiser than you._

And really, that was fair, because she kind of was, Ian thought. She’d been through her fair share of complicated relationships, with Jimmy and Gus and Sean and whoever else – Ian couldn’t always keep track. And the same went for all the other adults around the table.

It gave him some perspective, if nothing else. Still, he felt bummed out that Mickey had just left so abruptly with no way to contact him. Ian felt like they’d gotten along well, and he knew there was something there and that it was mutual, he’d felt it. Had Mickey just gotten too rich and famous to bother with someone like Ian?

But no, he’d stuck around, helped him with the keg and stayed for coffee, and after the initial shock of seeing Mickey, Ian had felt like Mickey fit in here perfectly. He certainly didn’t seem to think he was too good for this place, even though it had been years since he’d left.

They finished dinner – a loud and raucous affair, as always – and moved over to the living room. It wasn’t every night they were all home at the same time, so they’d decided to take advantage of it and have a movie night, complete with ice cream, courtesy of Lip and Tami.

“All right, what are we watching?” Ian asked the room at large, getting down on his knees by the DVD player.

“Franny and I picked this one up today,” Debbie said, throwing him a DVD. “It just came out; it’s a new Mickey Milkovich movie!”

Ian caught the DVD and looked down at it, and sure enough, there was Mickey, on the cover of a cheesy looking family-friendly romantic comedy, holding hands and looking very much in love with the female lead on his left.

“Oh, I _love_ him,” Tami said, coming downstairs after putting Fred down in Franny’s old crib and settling in next to Lip on the couch.

Ian hesitated. He’d watched several of Mickey’s movies before and shamelessly fantasized about him all the while, but now… now it just felt a little weird. It almost felt like an intrusion of Mickey’s privacy.

On the other hand, though, he’d never seen him in a romantic role, and now he was kind of curious.

And so, he put the DVD in, grabbed his bowl of ice cream, and found a seat on the floor next to Liam, while the conversation continued despite the movie playing.

“I saw Kev earlier, he said Mickey was back in town,” Liam informed them. Ian stilled next to him and didn’t say anything.

“No shit?” Lip said, eyebrows raised. “Never thought he’d end up back here.”

On screen, the main character, Anna, was being introduced in a montage set to a quirky voiceover and a song with a peppy beat.

“Did Kev say why he was back?” Fiona wondered.

“No,” Liam replied. “We got interrupted. He did say he’s only back for a few days though.”

Anna rushed around her tastefully decorated apartment, squeezing into skinny jeans and looking for her left shoe because she was late for work.

“Wait, so, have all of you met him?” Tami asked, sounding jealous.

“I’ve been told I have,” Liam said matter-of-factly, “but I was too young to remember.”

“Ian, what about you?” Tami asked.

On screen, Anna was now rushing to work, carrying four large to-go coffee cups on a cardboard tray, and with a crescendo of music there was a dramatic burst of papers flying into the air as she crashed straight into none other than Mickey.

“Why me, specifically?” Ian shot back, now unable to tear his gaze away from the screen.

“Well, it would make sense for two gay kids to stick together in an environment like this, right?” Tami said. “Must have been hard to come out here.”

“He wasn’t even out when he lived here,” Ian pointed out.

“Bet you wish he was,” Carl snorted. He had a point.

Later in the movie, Mickey’s character was confessing his love in a long monologue that should have been ridiculous and over-the-top, but somehow, Mickey made it sound sincere. The shot was of just him, his hair a little longer than it had been today, a few tendrils falling across his forehead, and his eyes were just as bright blue as Ian remembered, and…

… and Ian wanted to see him again.

* * *

The next morning, Mickey walked down a street he never thought he’d walk down again, to a house he’d never wanted to see again.

Mandy and Sandy were standing in front of it, waiting for Mickey, heads bowed together and giggling.

It was way too early to be giggling, in Mickey’s opinion. Despite it being June, the sky was gray, and the day was cold and windy, and the other two had insisted on getting started early, which was why he was now here at 8:30 in the goddamn morning.

“You’re late, asshole!” Mandy yelled out when she saw him, and okay, fine, maybe it was a little after 8:30 by now. Still early.

“Just be glad I showed up at all, bitch,” he shot back, grabbing her in a brief headlock which she quickly squirmed out of.

And then there was nothing left to do but go into the house.

It looked even shittier than he remembered. Iggy and Colin and who knows who else must have already dropped by some time after Terry died to see if they could find anything they wanted to keep. There were all kinds of garbage left everywhere: empty takeout boxes and broken bongs, abandoned bits of clothing and sticky beer bottles.

There was nothing scary about this house. It was just kind of sad, kind of pathetic, and Mickey couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

“Well,” said Sandy, shaking out a garbage bag. “This shouldn’t be too hard.”

They made fast work of it, filling several bags easily, since nothing was worth keeping.

“I heard something interesting from Veronica Fisher today,” Sandy remarked at around Garbage Bag Number Five. “You know, Kevin’s wife, from the Alibi?”

“Mhm,” Mickey hummed, only half-listening.

“I can’t believe she’s ever had twins, by the way,” Sandy continued. “She looks _incredible_.”

“Not my type,” Mickey said, sweeping the contents of the kitchen counter into another garbage bag.

“Well, not everything’s about you,” Sandy said, hopping up on the counter and swinging her legs. “I wonder how monogamous those two are…”

“What was it she told you?” Mandy asked from where she was inspecting the contents of the fridge with a look of distaste.

“Oh yeah,” Sandy grinned. “She said Kevin told her you” – she gave Mickey a pointed look – “came by the bar yesterday.”

Mickey looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah…” he nodded his head slowly, like she was a little slow on the uptake. “So?”

“So,” she continued, still grinning at him. “He said you left with Ian Gallagher.”

Mandy slammed the fridge door shut and now bore a grin matching Sandy’s. Uh oh.

“So I left at the same time as some guy,” Mickey deflected, but he knew he’d been caught. “What’s the big fucking deal?”

“You helped him carry a big-ass keg all the way home.”

“It wasn’t that far…”

“Oh, I had the biggest crush on him,” Mandy sighed. Then she frowned. “Wait… do I have the same taste in guys as my _brother_?”

Sandy burst out laughing, and Mickey couldn’t help but chuckle at that, too.

“Who’s to say anything even happened,” he said, continuing on to the kitchen table. “I just helped him carry something. For all you know, that’s it.”

The silence that greeted that statement made him turn around, only to find both women side-by-side, peering at him suspiciously.

“Wait…” Mandy said. “Something _did_ happen, didn’t it?”

He just turned back to the pile of trash on the table instead, but his lack of answer told them all they really needed to know.

“Damn, Mick!” Mandy said, sounding impressed, jealous, and amused all at once. “I was just kidding! Can’t believe you actually hooked up with him!”

“Calm your tits, we just kissed,” Mickey grumbled, but that just set off a loud wolf-whistle from Sandy and more laughter from Mandy.

Once they’d calmed down, Mandy’s face turned more serious.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” she asked. “If the paps get wind of this—”

“Chill,” Mickey said. “Not like they don’t know I’m gay already.”

“That’s not what I meant, Mick. They still think you’re with—”

“I know,” he replied curtly. “But it’s fine, they won’t find out.”

At least he assumed they wouldn’t. Sure, he hardly knew Ian, and it was entirely possible he’d sell the story to some tabloid; but it’s not like he had any proof of anything. Worst case scenario, there’d be some rumors. Mickey could deal with rumors.

Somehow, though, he didn’t think Ian would do something like that.

“It was still stupid,” he admitted. Mandy and Sandy watched him in silence. “I knew I’m leaving on Saturday. I dunno what I was thinkin’.”

He could see the cogs turning in their heads before he’d considered how that sentiment would come across. Sure enough:

“But why would that matter if…” Sandy said slowly. “Or are you saying it wasn’t just a casual hookup?”

Mickey didn’t know what he meant, what it was. It had been unexpected, and it had felt significant, and he didn’t have time to figure it out, because he was leaving again. He had to leave again.

“I’m gonna go check out my old room,” he said, making a quick exit from the kitchen and that conversation.

The sign was still hanging on the door. _STAY THE FUCK OUT_ it proclaimed angrily, practically reeking of teenage angst.

He stepped into his room, and he froze.

All of his drawings were still taped to the walls. His old knife lay on the bedside table, next to an empty pack of his favorite cigarettes. His old bedsheets were still on the bed, the duvet laying crumpled and the pillow fallen down to the floor. A spot on the floor next to the bed drew his eye; a bloodstain, from the day he’d finally had enough and left Chicago with Mandy, when his dad had found him in this bed with some guy he’d met in the neighborhood and beat him bloody.

And it was too much, all of a sudden. Everything else had already been the same – the streets outside, the Alibi, the rest of this house – but seeing his room like this, like he’d just stepped out for the day, rather than left and stayed away for eight years, made him feel sick.

So he turned around and left, shouting out to the others that everything in there could be thrown away too, and stepped out to sit on the front steps of the house and light a cigarette.

He’d barely taken a drag before his phone started ringing. He took a cursory glance at the screen and swiped the screen to answer.

“Hey Afua,” he greeted, his voice coming out a little rougher than he’d meant it to.

“Mickey, hi!” came his agent’s smooth, professional voice as she either didn’t notice his tone or ignored it. Knowing her, it was probably the latter. “Listen, I know you said you were busy this week, but I got a call from Leonard today, and he’s basically demanding you do a couple interviews for the new movie by the end of this week.”

Speaking quickly, as if to stop Mickey from interrupting – which he wasn’t planning on doing, continuing to take long, leisurely drags from his cigarette as Afua kept talking – she continued, “I know it’s inconvenient – honestly, he’s an amazing director and all, but he’s just the worst at planning these things. This is so last minute! Anyway, I’ve set up some interviews for tomorrow morning, and made sure Lee from the Chicago office will be there to keep things running smoothly – you’ve met Lee, right? He just transferred from our office last year. Anyway, it’ll just be a few hours, and you can do them straight from your hotel suite! I’ll send you the details. That work for you?”

Mickey hummed in agreement. He didn’t really like interviews, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much that he had to do them on Friday, rather than next week. He didn’t really have plans until he left, other than hanging out with Mandy and Sandy and helping out with the house.

“Great!” Afua said. “Hope you’re having a good trip. I’ll talk to you later; I’ve got Eva on the other line so I’ve gotta run.”

And then the line went silent as she hung up.

Two cigarettes later, Sandy opened the door and leaned out.

“You okay?” she asked. He knew she wasn’t expecting much in the way of an answer, so he just jerked his head in a vague gesture that could have meant anything.

“Hey, I, uh” she paused. “When I was talking to Veronica earlier, I started wondering… I mean, it didn’t really sound like you to go help random people carry stuff to their houses for no reason.”

He gave her a scathing glare over his shoulder, then turned back to keep smoking.

“Anyway, I asked her for Ian’s number.” She slipped him a note with a string of digits written in her slanted scrawl before stepping back into the house and closing the door behind her without another word.

Mickey stared at the piece of paper.

Turned it over.

Threw it to the side and kept smoking.

Picked it back up.

Looked down at it.

Sighed.

And started dialing.


	3. An Interview and a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this chapter was a Struggle™ to write, hence the delay, but I hope you enjoy how it turned out!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Ian had been in the middle of trying to persuade Freddie to eat his lunch the day before while simultaneously keeping an eye on Franny in the living room (and mentally cursing out Lip and Debbie for taking advantage of how much he loved these kids and dumping them both on him on his day off) when his phone rang.

He picked up, putting it on speaker so he could continue spooning baby food (a disgusting looking brownish goo labeled Spaghetti Bolognese that Fred seemed unable to make up his mind about) into Fred’s mouth.

“Hello?” he answered distractedly, mindful not to speak in the baby voice he used on Fred.

“Hey, uh, Ian?” a familiar voice said. “It’s Mickey.”

“Oh,” Ian said, spoon pausing halfway to Fred’s mouth. “Hey!”

Fred started getting impatient when Ian still didn’t move the spoon, waving his chubby little hands around and shouting out into the ensuing silence.

“Sorry, this a bad time?” Mickey asked.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ian quickly assured him, giving Fred the food and throwing a quick glance over to Franny, who was still watching cartoons on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Do you wanna come over for…” Ian stared at the phone, waiting for Mickey to continue. “For coffee, or something?”

“Yeah! Yeah,” Ian, maybe a little too quickly. “I’d love to.”

Mickey had told him what hotel he was at and when to come over, and they’d ended the call, Ian feeling a little giddy and a lot excited.

“That your new guy?” a voice had come from behind him then, and Ian had turned around to see Lip standing by the door that he’d apparently come through without Ian noticing.

“Maybe,” Ian smiled. He couldn’t help it.

“You gonna bring him over some time so we can meet him?”

“Hmm,” Ian paused, considering. Obviously, it was way too early for that, but Lip’s question made him imagine how Mickey would fit in here with the other Gallaghers. They’d like him, Ian thought. “Maybe.”

* * *

And that was how the next day found Ian walking toward the Ritz on the north side of Chicago with Mickey’s forgotten pair of pants tucked underneath his arm.

Entering the hotel, he immediately felt out of place. This wasn’t his part of town; hell, he’d never even been in this part of town. He could definitely never afford a single night in this hotel.

He made his way over to the elevator and pressed the button, and as he got in, a young woman wearing a stiff dark gray blazer and matching pencil skirt stepped in after him. He gave her a friendly smile and got a polite nod back.

“Which floor?” he asked her.

“3, please,” she replied.

Ian jabbed the ‘3’ button and waited in silence as they got to the third floor and both got out. He took off to the left after checking the sign with room numbers on the wall opposite the elevator, and after a moment he noticed the woman was walking the same way.

After a right turn, she was still right on his heels.

Ian made it to the room Mickey had told him to go to, and the woman was still there, right behind him.

He looked back at her.

“You sure this is the room you’re after?” he asked with what he hoped was a disarming smile, gesturing to the door ahead of him.

“Yes,” she replied, and didn’t elaborate.

The door swung open to reveal a frazzled looking young man around Ian’s age, black hair sticking up in all directions and large clipboard in shaking hand. He looked like Lip had during his brief stint in college the time he’d chugged an entire pot of coffee and rolled up to the end-of-year exam after cramming all night.

“Julia Patel,” the woman said smartly, sticking out her hand for the man to shake.

“Uhm,” Ian said, not quite as smartly, growing more and more unsure. This was definitely the right room number – was he too early? “My name’s Ian Gallagher, I think Mickey’s expecting me?”

“Hello,” the man said, making a quick note of their names on a paper on the clipboard and immediately ushering them into the room, walking sideways in order to dart looks back at them as they followed him into a large living room. His hands fidgeting with the papers, then his tie, then his hair. “Welcome. My name is Lee, I’m handling the interviews today. What publications are you from?”

“Chicago Tribune,” Julia replied, adjusting her glasses slightly and walking with her spine looking uncomfortably straight, looking every bit the picture of cool professionalism next to the harried Lee.

“And you?” Lee turned his slightly panicked eyes to Ian, who scrambled to come up with a suitable answer. He definitely shouldn’t be here, but then again, it would feel rude to just leave now, after a quick glance at his watch told him he was right on time after all.

His mind went straight to a morning a few months ago, when he had been shelving some new arrivals in the store while Fiona read aloud from a list of obscure magazines she’d found.

He’d doubled over in laughter and Fiona had laughed until she cried at some of the names, and they still referenced some of them now and then as a dumb inside joke:

 _Hey Fiona, did you see the latest article in_ _Potato Review Magazine?_

 _Not yet - I’m still reading the last issue of_ _Portable Restroom Operator._

“Horse and Hound,” he said, and promptly cringed. That one really wasn’t much better.

Poor Lee looked like he was about to cry at that, eyes wide and chin quivering as he stared at Ian in confusion, and for a moment Ian worried he was about to be thrown out. But then Lee gave a minute shake of the head and ushered them properly inside the room, where two other reporters were sitting and waiting for their turns to interview Mickey.

Both of the other reporters were as smartly dressed as Julia, all pressed, dark fabrics with clean, sharp lines, and Ian was starting to feel uncomfortably underdressed.

If nothing else, he was making _Horse and Hound_ look bad.

He sank into an expensive looking armchair and looked around the room. The other people in it were all looking down at their phones or tablets, sitting stiffly on equally expensive looking chairs and sofas. Their business formal attire was all dark blues, blacks, and grays; they stood out in the sea of creamy off-whites of the room, making for a very fancy but incredibly drab and dull effect.

Ian couldn’t picture Mickey in here at all; it was too lifeless and boring, with no room for Mickey’s sarcastic eyebrows and knuckle tattoos.

There was a stack of papers on the coffee table in the center of the room; picking one up, he saw they were promotional pamphlets for the journalists with information about Mickey and the movie. It was the same film he and Mickey had seen an ad for on the side of that bus that had drenched them in rain water a few days earlier, though this time it featured a full-body shot of Mickey floating through space in his astronaut suit, looking into the distance with a calculating gaze.

Ian passed the time by playing games on his phone, waiting as the other reporters were admitted by Lee into a separate room one by one, staying there for around ten minutes each before walking out past Ian and leaving the suite.

Once Julia left, Ian looked up at Lee standing in the doorway of the other room.

“Ian Gallagher?” Lee read out from his clipboard, looking around the room as if to make sure no more reporters were about to pop up from behind a cream-colored settee or tasteful beige fruit bowl.

Ian stood up and gave Lee a polite smile, hoping to reassure him somewhat (as he still looked remarkably stressed) and also to distract from how out of place Ian was.

Lee didn’t seem to notice, fidgeting with his clipboard again and gesturing for Ian to enter the room.

Mickey was sitting on a black leather sofa with silver metal legs in a much more modern looking room. Everything still looked so expensive and _clean_ that Ian almost felt like he shouldn’t touch anything, but the big windows, potted plants, and splashes of color in the form of carpet, curtains, and cushions made the room as a whole feel a lot less stuffy than the previous one.

“Ian Gallagher from, uhh…” Lee hesitated. Mickey’s eyes found Ian’s, and he straightened a little where he’d been slumped in the middle of the couch. “ _Horse and Hound_ magazine.”

Mickey lifted one eyebrow in surprise, and he shot Ian a small, amused smile, but otherwise he didn’t react, instead waiting for Ian to take his seat on the opposite sofa and holding out a hand for him to shake under Lee’s watchful eye.

“Hi Ian,” Mickey said with a smirk. “Always nice to talk to a new magazine.”

“Yeah,” Ian grinned at him. “Our readers really love your work.”

Lee scribbled something on the paper on his clipboard and left the room, and as soon as he closed the door Mickey huffed out a laugh.

“Horse and Hound, really?”

“Shut up,” Ian laughed. “He put me on the spot.”

Mickey’s smile turned apologetic at that.

“Yeah, sorry about that, man,” he said. “My agent sprung these interviews on me pretty last minute, but they ran way late. They were supposed to be over about an hour ago.”

“No wonder that Lee guy looks like he’s gonna pass out from the stress,” Ian chuckled.

Mickey laughed again; for all the roughness from his youth that still clung to him, his smile suited him.

“I brought your pants,” Ian said awkwardly, holding them out for Mickey to take.

Mickey smiled, took them, stood up, and walked over to a cupboard. He took out something gray and soft-looking – Ian’s sweatpants.

“Thanks for the loan,” Mickey said, sitting back down, and when he handed over the pants, his fingers brushed Ian’s just for a second.

Ian didn’t really know what else to say; what were you meant to say in this situation? The last time they’d seen each other they’d kissed after an unusual and unexpected meeting. Now they were meeting again, and neither seemed to know how they were meant to interact.

“Listen, uh…” Mickey started in a gruff voice, eyes not quite meeting Ian’s. His easy smile had given way to a guarded face and stiffened shoulders. “Just wanted to say sorry about last time. Dunno what I was thinkin’.”

His words bounced around Ian’s head. Ian felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“That’s okay,” Ian said carefully, and decided to take the honesty route. “I didn’t mind it at all.”

Mickey finally met Ian’s eyes properly. He still looked hesitant, but his posture relaxed slightly.

“Okay,” he said, softer now. “Good.”

Ian had just enough time to feel distinctly relieved that Mickey didn’t actually seem to regret anything before the door swung open again and Lee trudged back in. He read something on his clipboard, straightened his glasses, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Don’t forget that Mr Milkovich would also be happy to talk about his current project, an upcoming film that will be released this December.”

“Right, thanks,” Ian said, ignoring the amused little grin that had found its way back to Mickey’s face and giving Lee a nod instead, waiting for him to leave again. But Lee closed the door behind him and stayed in the room, moving over to a desk in the corner and leaning against it, continuing to make notes on his clipboard.

Ian looked to Mickey, slightly lost, but the latter just gave him a challenging eyebrow raise.

Right.

“So,” Ian began. “I really liked the film, but… I was wondering, did you ever think of… including some more horses in it?”

“Well,” Mickey said, looking amused. “We would have considered it, but since the movie’s set in space and all, I dunno how well they’d have fit in.”

“Right,” Ian grinned, all his previous discomfort entirely gone. “How about this upcoming movie? Any horses in that one? Or hounds, maybe?”

“Probably not, unfortunately,” Mickey replied, “seeing as it’s set in a submarine.”

A phone started buzzing in Lee’s side of the room; he shuffled out quickly to take the call, muttering apologies along the way.

Ian and Mickey watched him leave, turned to each other in silence – and then burst out laughing again. Ian felt much lighter than he had when he’d first sat down.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Ian laughed. “That was so bad.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said teasingly. “I wouldn’t give up that bookstore to go into acting, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

When their laughter simmered down, Ian looked over at Mickey with a surge of confidence.

“I have a better question for you; are you busy tonight?”

“Nope,” Mickey replied without hesitation.

“How about dinner, then?” Ian asked.

Now Mickey looked unsure.

“Sounds good, but my publicist wouldn’t want me to get papped on a da—” he cut himself off. “At a restaurant, alone with a guy on a Friday evening.”

“Oh, right, _shit_ ,” Ian started. “I forgot it’s Friday – it’s my brother’s birthday party. Liam, you know, the one I told you about?”

“Right,” Mickey said. “The eleven-year-old with the keg.”

“That’s the one,” Ian grinned. And then an arguably ridiculous thought hit him, one that he’d just the day before dismissed as dumb, but the words were out before he could stop them: “You wanna come?”

And to Ian’s surprise and pleasure, Mickey answered with a soft smile and a question of his own:

“Fuck it, why not?”

* * *

“What do you mean you have plans tonight?” Mandy said indignantly, her face slightly pixelated on Mickey’s phone, which was propped up against the mirror in the bathroom. “We were supposed to keep working at the house and then grab dinner.”

“And why are you naked?” Sandy asked, her face coming into frame as she pressed her cheek up to Mandy’s.

“M’not naked,” he rolled his eyes and adjusted the phone slightly so they could see the towel around his waist, then grabbed his hair gel.

“How can you suddenly have plans worth ditching us for?” Mandy pressed. “And why are you fixing your hair?”

“YOU’RE SEEING IAN, AREN’T YOU?” Sandy yelled, and Mandy gasped.

“Maybe,” Mickey said, just about managing to suppress a smile. He put the gel bottle down and grabbed the phone, moving into the bedroom where he had dumped all of his clothes on his bed.

“Mick, oh my god,” Mandy grinned. “You’re going on a da-a-a-a-ate.”

“And you look so _pretty_ ,” Sandy cackled. “Ian won’t know what hit him.”

“Both of you’d better shut the fuck up right now,” Mickey said, shooting them his most threatening glare and propping the phone up against a vase on his bedside table.

“Now,” he said, grabbing two garments off the bed and holding them up. “Which shirt’s better?”

Their answering screams of laughter were tinny through the shitty phone speakers, and this time Mickey didn’t bother hiding his smile.

* * *

“Ian!” Fiona yelled out as soon as he came down the stairs. “Is it true you’re bringing your new boyfriend tonight?”

Ian rolled his eyes good-naturedly and said, “he is _not_ my boyfriend, jesus.”

“But he’s coming to your kid brother’s birthday party?” Debbie prompted innocently from where she was sitting by the kitchen bar next to a smirking Lip.

“Yep,” Ian said, declining to comment any further and instead joining Fiona behind the stove to help out with Liam’s birthday dinner.

Everyone had dressed up; Franny had never looked more adorable in her little party dress, and even baby Freddie was wearing a tiny velcro bowtie. (“Finally,” Tami had said, joining them in the kitchen, “an excuse to use this dumb baby shower present.”) Everyone had helped out when they’d had a free minute during the day to hang up various decorations, including a big tacky banner proclaiming _HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_ and a bunch of balloons lying on the floor, since no one had thought to get a tank of helium. There was also a pile of wrapped presents waiting on the counter.

It was a far sight from most of the birthdays any of the older Gallagher siblings had had as kids, when Frank and Monica had still been around. They’d routinely either forget about their birthdays entirely or just made a mess of it; Ian recalled one early birthday spent trying his best to help Fiona and Lip take care of a screaming baby Debbie after Monica had burned dinner, given up on cooking, and forgotten to feed them. Frank had taken a few pills of some kind and slipped a few to Monica too, and soon they were dancing in the living room, trying to get the kids to join in while the heavy smell of smoke still clung to the kitchen.

It would never be like that again for Liam, at least, Ian had decided along with the rest of his siblings who were old enough to remember truly how bad it would get sometimes, with their parents around.

“So where’s the birthday boy?” Ian asked, chopping some vegetables, since Liam always claimed a meal was incomplete without them.

“I asked Carl to distract him while we finished wrapping up the presents,” Fiona replied, stirring a huge pot of mac and cheese. “They should be back soon.”

There was a loud knock on the front door then, and everyone looked over at Ian with weird little smiles, and he rolled his eyes at them and went to open it.

Rather than opening the door wide and letting Mickey in, though, he opened it a little, slipped out of the house, and closed it behind him, wanting to get a moment alone with Mickey before taking him into the house. He wasn’t _worried_ , per se, but during the hours leading up to tonight, he’d started questioning whether this was a good idea: what if his siblings treated Mickey weirdly because he’s famous and made him uncomfortable?

He took his first proper look at the other man and his greeting promptly died on his lips, because Mickey looked _good_. He’d already looked good the day he’d walked into the bookstore, but now… his hair was effortlessly styled, with a few dark strands falling across the side of his forehead. His eyes were somehow brighter than Ian remembered, and the dark blue button-up he was wearing looked perfectly tailored, highlighting his built physique. Ian couldn’t see since they were facing each other, but he had a hunch that the slacks Mickey wore made his ass look _fantastic_ , and—

“This starin’ thing somethin’ you do a lot, then?” Mickey said, one eyebrow raised.

“Sorry,” Ian said with a sheepish smile. “You look good.”

“Not so bad yourself,” Mickey replied in a low tone, sweeping his gaze over Ian’s body, and Ian felt heat surging through him. Suddenly he wished they could just spend the night alone, just the two of them.

“You ready to meet everyone?” he said before he let himself get too distracted.

“Do they know I’m coming?”

“They know I’m bringing someone. I haven’t told them who.”

“Well,” Mickey said, raising his eyebrows. “This should be fun.”

The noise from inside the house poured out into the pleasant summer evening when Ian opened the door, along with the mouthwatering smells of dinner. They stepped inside and Ian immediately felt a small child slamming into him and attaching herself to his leg.

“Franny, wait,” came Debbie’s voice as she came running after her daughter. “I just need to fix your- oh, hi!”

“Hi,” Mickey said, looking a little awkward – probably because Debbie was now staring at him with a calculating gaze.

“You look familiar…”

“Debs,” Ian said, picking up Franny and holding her against his hip. “This is Mickey.”

Her eyes widened comically and a “oh, holy _fuck_ ” slipped out before she caught herself.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said in an impressively casual voice, though she still hadn’t picked her jaw off the floor.

A quick glance over at Mickey told Ian he looked, thankfully, amused, rather than annoyed or like he regretted coming tonight.

“Nice to meet you too,” Mickey said, and he looked over at Ian, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Suddenly, Ian wasn’t worried at all anymore. Instead, he was kind of excited, and with a wide grin he gave Mickey a little nod toward the kitchen before leading the way, followed closely by Mickey with Debbie trailing behind them, still gaping.

“Everyone,” Ian said, addressing the room at large. “This is Mickey.”

If he’d thought Debbie’s reaction had been funny, that was nothing compared to now: Fiona stopped mid-stir of the pot of macaroni after glancing over her shoulder quickly before doing a comical double-take; Lip wore a matching gob-smacked expression where he sat by the bar, not seeming to notice Freddie’s sticky hands grabbing his face; and the silence was briefly interrupted when Tami dropped the glass she’d been drinking out of, which luckily just bounced off the carpet.

“Mickey,” Ian said when no one reacted. “These are my older siblings, Lip and Fiona, and this is Lip’s girlfriend Tami, and that’s their son Freddie. And this,” putting Franny down and ruffling her hair, “is Debbie’s daughter, Franny.”

“Hi Mickey,” Fiona said, voice slightly too loud in a forced attempt to sound casual. “Welcome!”

Lip said nothing, just nodding politely at Mickey, but Tami seemed to come out of her stupor and came rushing over to Mickey to shake his hand enthusiastically.

“Oh my god,” she said, sounding breathless. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m such a big fan!”

Mickey chuckled a little awkwardly, looking a little uncomfortable at last at the compliment, but muttering out a thank you, nonetheless.

“No, I mean it,” Tami gushed on, having grudgingly let go of his hand after far too long a handshake. “I’ve been following your career pretty much since the start, when you did that movie set in Italy, oh my _god_ I just fell in love with you in that, you were just amazing—”

Before Ian had the chance to interrupt (because now Mickey definitely did look a little uncomfortable), Lip put a hand on Tami’s shoulder, having walked up behind her with Fred in his arms while she rambled.

“Alright, hey, I’m right here,” he said in a mock jealous tone. “Stop confessing your love to other guys right in front of me.”

Tami just rolled her eyes at him and took Fred when he reached out for her, but the weird tension had been successfully broken, and Mickey looked a lot more at ease.

Lip locked eyes with Ian for a second, and Ian realized with a pang of fondness that Lip knew exactly what he was doing.

“Beer, Mickey?” Lip asked, moving towards the table next to the washing machine in the back of the kitchen where the keg had been set up.

“Yeah, thanks,” Mickey said, still standing close to Ian and looking less uncomfortable now that idle conversation had picked up around them and he was no longer the center of everyone’s attention.

Tami was still throwing extremely unsubtle glances over at him at regular intervals, but he didn’t seem to mind too much.

Lip handed Mickey a plastic cup of beer and Ian a cup of soda before moving back over to Tami and fussing over Fred.

“This okay?” Ian murmured to Mickey, leaning in slightly even though it was completely unnecessary, since no one would have overheard them anyway. He caught a whiff of Mickey’s aftershave and instinctively look a deep breath.

“Yeah man,” Mickey said, sounding a little exasperated but amused as he turned his head slightly to look straight at Ian. His face was so close now. “Stop lookin’ so worried. I’m used to people bein’ a little weird around me.”

“Alright,” Ian said, not moving away. “You just tell me if you get scared and want me to hold your hand.”

“Shut up,” Mickey said, grinning and shoving Ian lightly out of his space. Ian grinned back, and when he looked up Fiona was watching them from the kitchen counter with a small smile on her face.

The door opened then and Liam walked in slowly, arms slightly outstretched because Carl was walking behind him and covering his eyes. Everyone fell silent until the moment Carl dropped his hands:

“SURPRISE!” they all shouted, even though Liam had been fully aware his birthday dinner would be tonight, but he smiled at them all the same.

He accepted hugs from Lip, Debbie, Tami, Franny, Fiona, Ian – and then his eyes fell on Mickey.

“Liam, Carl, this is Mickey,” Ian said, and Liam’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Hey,” Carl said while helping himself to a cup of beer. “So you’re the mystery guy Ian’s been hanging out with, huh?”

“Guess that’s me,” Mickey said, face unreadable.

“We were wondering why Ian was being so secretive,” Fiona said with a wry grin at Ian.

Mickey took a sip of his drink, and Carl’s eyes followed the movement.

“Sick tats, man,” he said appreciatively, looking at the ink along Mickey’s knuckles that Ian had noticed before but not really taken in; FUCK-U-UP they said, black letters angry and warning.

“Those must be a pain to cover up when you’re working, huh?” Debbie said, sounding genuinely curious.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Mickey replied, looking down at his fingers. “Gotta get makeup touched up every half hour, most days.”

“Why, what do you do?” Carl asked.

Tami looked like she took personal offense at that, but Lip bit down on a grin and put a gentle hand on her arm to stop her from saying anything. Everyone was watching Carl and Mickey now, but the latter barely reacted to the question.

“I’m an actor,” he said with the tone of someone who had no reason to assume Carl would already know this.

“An actor?” Carl repeated, frowning. “Like in movies?”

“Yeah, mostly,” Mickey replied.

“That’s gotta be rough,” Carl said, adding, with all the tact of a five-year-old, “Actors don’t make much, right? Like, last movie you did, how much did you make?”

“’Bout twenty million dollars,” Mickey responded, taking another sip of his beer.

“Fuck,” Carl said after a beat of silence, looking very impressed. “Good for you.”

“Okay then,” Fiona said, raising her eyebrows and clapping her hands together. “Let’s eat!”

“I’m just gonna…” Mickey gestured towards the downstairs bathroom, but was too late, as Franny was already opening the door.

“There’s one upstairs,” Ian said while everyone else took their seats at the table behind him in a loud flurry of activity. “First door, you can’t miss it.”

He watched Mickey go (and he’d been right about those slacks, he noted, before guiltily averting his eyes) and turned around to find every single pair of eyes pinned on him.

“Quick, before he comes back,” Fiona hissed, grabbing Ian’s arm and pulling him into the empty seat next to her. “Tell us everything!”

“Yeah, jesus, Ian,” Lip said. “What the fuck are you doing with Mickey Milkovich?”

“Mickey Milkovich?” Carl repeated dumbly. “That was _Mickey Milkovich_?”

“Carl, seriously,” Debbie said with a lofty eyeroll. “We watched one of his movies just a couple days ago.”

“I cannot believe Mickey goddamn Milkovich is in the same house as me right now,” Tami said, both hands on the sides of her face. “Ian, quick, tell me: how is he in bed?”

“Jesus,” Ian muttered, “everyone shut up. And stop treating him weirdly, he’s just a person, okay? He just happens to be famous.”

“It’s not even just that he’s famous,” Fiona said. “Even before he left the south side it would have been weird to see the two of you together. I mean, he’s a Milkovich – and he was the worst one, probably, other than Terry.”

“Who’s Terry?” Tami asked. The fact that she didn’t know said a lot about how new she still was to their lives; everyone else above the age of twelve or so could remember plenty of instances of Terry terrorizing the neighborhood, and bringing his kids and nephews along with him to do some of the dirty work.

“That was a long time ago,” Ian said, hoping Mickey couldn’t hear any of this from upstairs. “He’s not like that now. He left, remember?”

And luckily, no one got the chance to ask the obvious next few questions – _what are you doing with him now then? Isn’t he gonna leave again?_ – because they heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Mickey was walking back into the room.

* * *

Mickey had gotten a _lot_ of practice over the years meeting and dealing with starstruck fans, and it never stopped being awkward as fuck but at least it was nothing new. Somehow, though, meeting the Gallaghers was different, and it didn’t hit him why until he paused on the landing to listen to the hushed voices from the kitchen drifting up the stairs.

 _He’s not like that now,_ Ian had said, and he was right. Mickey was different to how he’d been back then. And yet, for all the time he’d had to attempt to get used to being one of the most recognizable faces in the country, this was his first time experiencing fame in the same place he’d grown up in.

Two worlds collided when he stepped into the house and saw the looks on Ian’s siblings’ faces. On one hand, everything felt so familiar, like LA had just been a bizarre fever dream that he’d just woken up from, but on the other hand, everyone’s reaction and Ian’s comment just reminded him how long he’d been gone.

To the Gallaghers’ credit, once Mickey had joined them at the table, taking the empty seat next to Ian and accepting a heaping serving of mac and cheese from Fiona (and some veggies, courtesy of Liam), conversation started flowing more normally, and Mickey felt himself relaxing and tentatively enjoying himself.

He spent most of dinner listening to the others’ conversations, only really speaking up when spoken to, like when Tami started interrogating him about her favorite movie of his, or when Debbie asked him what it was like living in LA, or when little Franny piped up _Mikey!_ , and Debbie said _no, baby, his name is Mickey_ , and Franny insisted that no, it was _Mikey the turtle_ , and Mickey had to endure the ribbing that followed when everyone realized he’d played a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

He found though that he even enjoyed all the questions, and the teasing; it reminded him of hanging out with Mandy and Sandy.

Most of all, though, he enjoyed watching Ian, who looked so fucking _fond_ when he interacted with his family. He laughed with his whole body and smiled with so much warmth and just radiated contentedness throughout the whole evening, and when he’d look over at Mickey it kind of felt like Mickey would get his breath knocked out of him, just a little.

At one point, halfway through dinner, while Franny insisted on explaining the entire plot of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to them, Mickey felt Ian’s knee knock gently against his, and when he looked over at him, Ian was hiding a small smile behind the hand he was leaning his chin on, and Mickey felt heat rushing up the back of his neck and didn’t move his leg away. Ian didn’t either.

After dinner, Ian got up to turn off the lights while Lip lit the candles on the cake, which Fiona carried over to the table ceremoniously while they all sang Happy Birthday very loudly and in several different keys all at once, and Liam looked completely exasperated but also very happy.

Mickey’s mind went suddenly back to his eleventh birthday. He remembered it, because he’d let Mandy sleep in his bed after Terry had hit her, and they were both lying there in silence looking at an old beat up watch Mickey had that had belonged to his mother.

Neither of them had learned yet how to read the time so they decided when they thought it probably said it was midnight, signaling his birthday, and Mandy had wished him a happy birthday and eventually, after Terry’s drunken shouting outside the room had stopped, Mandy had drifted off to sleep. Mickey had stayed awake until sunrise, watching the door.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to ground himself like he’d learned to do over the last few years when those memories came back. _He can’t find you, he won’t come after you_ part of his mantra went, but the rising panic he’d normally feel didn’t come.

 _He’s dead,_ he instead reminded himself. _He’s gone and you’re still here._

He opened his eyes again and saw Ian looking at him questioningly while everyone else was distracted by the cake, and he shook his head slightly and smiled at him, trying to communicate that he was fine without raising everyone’s attention. And he found he really was.

A few minutes later, the front door opened to reveal Kevin and Veronica, who made a beeline for Liam to congratulate him.

Then they greeted everyone else, and Mickey heard rather than saw the moment Kevin’s eyes fell on him, because soon Kevin was booming out, “Well damn! Mickey fucking Milkovich!”

“Hey, Kev,” Mickey said, nodding in greeting. “Veronica.”

“Hey Mickey,” Veronica replied, surprise coloring her tone. “I didn’t know you were such good friends with the Gallaghers.”

“Ian brought him,” Liam piped up, and at that, Kevin looked like a kid who’d just been told Christmas had come early. He apparently had just enough tact not to say anything that would make things awkward, but he exchanged a long series of meaningful looks with Veronica that Mickey resolutely ignored.

Eventually, Fred had to be put to bed upstairs, and then Franny, who’d been allowed to stay up a little later, started nodding off on the couch, so Debbie took her upstairs too, and then even Liam had to go to sleep, but the rest of them settled into the living room with beer, music, and the rest of the cake.

A while later, when Carl and Fiona reached for the last piece of cake at the same time, idle conversation around the room screeched to a halt. The Gallaghers all looked at each other a little more seriously than the situation warranted, and Mickey felt a little lost.

“Time to see who deserves the last slice,” Ian explained under his breath, and judging by the way everyone squared up, this was some sort of tradition.

“I clearly deserve it,” Veronica said, lounging in the armchair with Kevin leaning against it in front of her, her hand absentmindedly running up and down his neck and shoulder as he leaned into it, looking half-asleep. “I mean, most of you know how stressful kids are. Now imagine having twins!” Lip and Tami both stilled, looking over at her with slightly horrified looks on their faces at the very thought. “Plus a full-time job on top of that, along with my husband who I’m _still_ not even legally married to.”

“Don’t worry, babe,” Kevin drawled out lazily. “You know I’m gonna put a ring on it.”

“You already did, dumbass,” she replied. “It was the legal marriage certificate you forgot.”

“At least you’re not raising them alone,” Debbie countered, bringing them back on track. “Try being a single mom.”

“As if you don’t get help with Franny all the time,” Carl pointed out from where he was sprawled out on the floor next to the coffee table.

“Well, it’s not like you deserve it more than me,” she said.

“True,” Carl agreed with a carefree shrug. “I’m vibin’.”

“He’s right though,” Lip said, snorting into his drink. He was sitting on the floor too, arms crossed on the coffee table and thigh pressed against Tami’s next to him. “Sorry Debs; clearly I deserve it more. I’m raising a newborn and working full-time after I dropped out of college, which I went to because everyone told me that if I did, I could get out of here and provide for all of you. Plus, I’m well on my way to becoming a worse alcoholic than our father.”

“Fuck off,” Fiona scoffed from her end of the sofa. Mickey was sitting on the other end, and Ian was sitting cross-legged between them. “You got the chance to go to college, it didn’t work out, and now you have a great job, a girlfriend, a house, a kid, and your one-year AA chip.”

Lip seemed to concede that she had a point, just giving a nod of his head and sharing a soft smile with Tami.

“Me, on the other hand,” Fiona said, her feet up on the couch and tucked under Ian’s thighs. “I’ve spent my entire life taking care of all of you because Frank and Monica couldn’t be fucked, and now you’re all growing up and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. Plus, my love life’s a total shitshow.”

“I’ll admit you really don’t know how to pick ‘em,” Ian said, shooting his sister a shit-eating grin. “But don’t pretend you don’t love taking care of us. And I know for a fact you love your job now.”

“Yeah,” Fiona agreed with a smile. “I guess you’re right. So do you, though, so you’re not winning this.”

“Oh, come on,” Ian drawled. He looked down at his drink as he spoke. “Lip complains about being like Frank, but at least none of you have to be like Monica.”

Mickey wasn’t sure what that meant, but Ian’s siblings looked at their brother with such serious, sad expressions that he didn’t dare ask.

“The army didn’t work out, and then the EMT job didn’t either,” Ian continued. “And the first real boyfriend I had who was actually my own age, rather than some old married creep with kids, cheated on me and then tried to argue it didn’t count because it was with a woman.”

After a brief pause, Fiona gave in.

“Yeah, okay, sweetface,” she said, big brown eyes focused on Ian. “You win.”

There were noises of agreement from most of the others, until Mickey, feeling a little warm and soft around the edges from several cups of beer, interrupted.

“Wait a minute,” he said, causing Ian to pause and look at him from where he was leaning forward to grab the last slice of cake. “What about me?”

“You?” Ian said, surprise giving way to a teasing tone as he continued. “The famous multi-millionaire Oscar winner who managed to get out of the south side and make a name for himself thinks he deserves my slice of cake?”

Mickey flipped him off.

“I deserve a shot at it, at least.”

“Alright, tough guy,” Ian said, leaning back on the couch. “Floor’s all yours.”

Maybe it was the beers, maybe it was the comfortable atmosphere he’d been enjoying all evening, or maybe it was the warmth radiating off of Ian next to him. Whatever it was, Mickey found himself rising to the challenge.

“Well,” he started. “I was raised by the most violently homophobic piece of shit the south side had to offer – or maybe ‘raised’ isn’t the right word, seeing as he didn’t do shit to help my mom when we were kids. She left, obviously, and it was me and my little sister against him, basically, with our older brothers and cousins only occasionally standing up for us. He hit us on the regular and left us with Family Services a couple times too, and he’s the only reason I left for LA. And sure, I have a good job now, but I got lucky and stumbled into it; it won’t be long before the media gets tired of gossiping about their favorite gay kid from the broken home in south side Chicago and catch on to the fact that they enjoy the success story more than the actual work I do.”

There was a silence, and Mickey felt a little out of breath, like he’d sprinted through his monologue, and he could tell he’d shared too much. It was unlike him; he was normally more guarded, but he’d let his mask slip a little tonight.

Even so, there was still so much he hadn’t said, and had never even considered saying to anyone; a little voice inside his head pointed out, though, that he’d never considered sharing as much as he had, but it had felt pretty good to let it out for once.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, shocked silence starting to make him tense up, but then he looked over at Ian, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

And then Ian broke into a wide grin.

“Nice try, Mick,” he said, cutting through the tension in the room with remarkable ease. “But I’m not giving up this cake that easy. Better luck next time.”

Mickey felt his discomfort ebb away again, and everyone else laughed along with him as Ian lunged for the cake and fended off Fiona with his pointy elbows when she tried to steal it from him, and just like that, they moved on.

* * *

“He seems pretty cool,” Lip said, voice quiet enough that only Ian could hear him. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs by the front door, Lip gathering up his bag of Freddie’s things while they waited for Tami to come back downstairs with the baby so they could head home.

Ian had gotten distracted and Lip had seen him staring over at Mickey, who was standing by the entrance to the kitchen listening to Kev telling a story about something or another that seemed to involve a lot of gesticulating. Vee had to duck slightly to avoid being hit in the head at one particularly expressive gesture, though she looked so unfazed Ian thought she must have done it subconsciously.

“Yeah,” Ian agreed, darting a glance at Lip but then looking back over at Mickey. He had that expression on that suggested he was completely done and judging everything you were saying – that expression that Ian found endearingly transparent, because it was so obvious Mickey was enjoying himself. He looked comfortable.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Lip asked, and that made Ian turn to him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little defensive. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Sure,” Lip said. “But you seem pretty into him, and that could get complicated.”

“It’s fine, Lip,” Ian said, ignoring the little twinge in his chest at those words. “It’s literally just been a few days, it’s not gonna get that serious.”

“Still,” Lip smiled a little sadly, managing to look teasing at the same time. “It’s about time you meet a guy that’s not a total douchebag, it’s just a shame it couldn’t have been someone a little more… available.”

Ian didn’t get a chance to reply, because Tami came downstairs with the still-sleeping baby and they made a quick exit, throwing out stage whispered goodbyes and see you tomorrows so as not to wake Freddie. They were soon followed by Vee and Kev, who seemed to have finished his story, grinning and waving at everyone as they headed out.

Mickey trailed up behind them, stopping next to Ian and looking at him somewhat expectantly.

“You heading out, too?” Ian asked.

“Yeah,” Mickey said.

“Can I walk you?”

“Sure.”

And so, after a round of it was so nice to meet yous from the remaining Gallaghers, Ian and Mickey headed out into the dark, starry summer night.

Ian walked slowly, and Mickey matched his pace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mickey asked, “What did you mean when you said you were like your mom?”

Ian felt a vague sense of discomfort that he felt whenever he had to talk about his mental health. It was a difficult topic for him to discuss, and he was still – after all these years – trying to come to terms with it fully. It didn’t help that his siblings, as much as he loved them, had a tendency to look at him sometimes the way they used to look at Monica.

“She was… a lot,” he said, searching for the right words to explain her. “She loved us a lot, but she wasn’t always able to take care of us. Sometimes she’d be so much fun, just full of energy all day, but then sometimes she’d get reckless to the point where she put us in danger. Like one time, when she grabbed Carl when he was just a baby and just drove off with him with no food, no money, no clothes… cops found them a few hours later cause she left him in the car in a parking lot when she went off to suck some guy off to get money for food.”

“Jesus,” Mickey muttered, but didn’t say anything else. He just waited for Ian to continue.

“And then there’d be other times, when she’d stay in bed for days, and I never used to get why she couldn’t just get up,” Ian admitted. They were wandering aimlessly at this point; Ian was pretty sure Mickey took a cab from the hotel, so he didn’t know where they were headed, and he didn’t think Mickey did either.

“She was bipolar,” Ian continued, and the word still held some of that weight that made it difficult for him to say. “And she was the only person with that disorder any of us knew, growing up, so when we found out I was bipolar too, everyone started walking on eggshells around me.”

Mickey still said nothing, but hummed lowly to show he was listening, and they kept walking at their sedate pace.

“It took a long time for me to admit I was sick,” Ian said, pressing his lips together in a grimace. “And things were bad for a long time.”

He didn’t feel the need to add that he was stable now. He didn’t want to say he was doing fine, because he wasn’t quite there yet. But he was getting there, slowly but surely, by making sure his family had his back, and by maintaining some stability in his daily life. The bookstore had helped with that; it grounded him, gave him a sense of purpose and a comfortable routine that he actually enjoyed.

“My mom was sick, too,” Mickey said after a while, coming to a slow stop, so Ian stopped too. “I don’t know what she had exactly, but she was depressed. She ran out on us when I was still too young to really get that.”

Ian nodded, watching Mickey.

“It’s not the same as bipolar, obviously,” Mickey continued, running a finger along his eyebrow, “but it was rough. I don’t blame her now that I understand it a little better. I just wish she could have gotten some help.”

“Did you ever talk to her about it? After?” Ian asked.

“Nah, man,” Mickey said, voice a little too light. “No idea what happened to her. Think she might have died, ‘cause we never heard from her again after the first few postcards.”

Ian just nodded again. No words of consolation felt right, so he didn’t offer any.

They’d stopped by a familiar fence, glinting silver in the streetlights; with a nod towards it, Ian wordlessly scaled it, dropping to his feet on the baseball field on the other side. He heard Mickey drop down next to him, and they kept walking, coming to a stop again by the entrance to the dugouts, where they leaned against the fence and looked out at the dark field.

Mickey looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked over at Ian and asked, “You busy tomorrow?”

“I thought you were leaving tomorrow?” Ian said.

“I was.”

Ian didn’t answer; he just felt a smile tugging at his lips as he finally leaned in and kissed Mickey again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i just wanna add that all the obscure magazine names ian mentions are 100% real)


End file.
